


Airavata

by BlackSamuraiLiterature



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSamuraiLiterature/pseuds/BlackSamuraiLiterature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elephant of the Clouds—vehicle, mount; “that which carries”—guard over the gate of Swarga Loka, until your rider beckons you forth for your role as vahana. Ascend your mighty trunks skyward, heaven-bound, to spray the waters that shall become the cool rain for the indradhanus over your domain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Airavata

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyx Midnight (nyxmidnight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxmidnight/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The Digital Devil Saga duology belongs to ATLUS Co., Ltd. All characters and settings derive from these works; this fiction is not connected to these works and is solely fan work. Selected text have been extracted from the source content and placed into the fiction. The theme of alcohol is mildly touched upon in this fiction.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING FOR  
> DIGITAL DEVIL SAGA 2 THROUGH POWER PLANT.

I.

They decided to kill him; they decided it was for the greater good. The test Tuner could have lost control, mauled and rampaged, and Roland and Adil knew the devastation that could cause towards the Lokapala. Tuners of the Karma Society proved to be nothing more than feral beast—their drive was nothing above an animal’s desire for the kill, for blood and flesh. Many of their people’s lives, citizen or not, were reduced to nothing more than nutritional content.

            The lives of residents, the lives of their men, and their own lives were so few and fragile, making the weight of their worth heavy. It would have been devastating towards what the Lokapala sustained in the Underground City, if such a monster coexisted amidst them. It was a decision an able, right-minded man would have ordered, but no amount of justification could convince Roland it one less sin unto his lot. Blame, guilt, and shame plagued his perception into delusion of errs and fault. They were only human after all.

            Adil did nothing but serve as a spectator, watching his comrade—his leader—try to cleanse his conscience with drink once again. The scorning Roland received from Fred, the child he pledged to parent in his father’s absence, was a voice freed to state its unfiltered disgust. The child’s words resounded forthright, ill ideas that reassured his own vice. Roland whole-heartedly believed his leadership was in the wrong.

            Adil did not know what to think of that view. Instead he watched lies transform into truths knotting his expression as Roland fumbled with his flask, drinking until nothing remained. He reconciled that it would be best to keep Fred blinded towards the test Tuner sacrifice, for all of their sakes. Roland’s sober-side realized such as well, but he was far from coherent. He was far from coherence even without the alcohol.

            A tremor had overtaken Roland’s hand as it grasped the flask desperately. The man was hunched over with his left arm around his waist and his right against the wall. The splatter of bile at his feet reflected the metaphor of his own existence, and his cloudy gaze envisioned somewhere unattainable. He steadied himself with a breath, and straightened himself to full height.

            “Think you can make it?” Adil asked.

            “Maybe things would be better if I hadn’t,” the hollowness replied.

            Adil had never questioned or created an opposing rouse against Roland’s decisions, and neither had his men—not from any talks or doings Adil had ever overheard or seen. Those signs inherently should have shown it would have mattered if he had not managed. It could not pass through the mist, but force could, so Adil took the drunk by the shoulder and gave it his strength. Lethargically Roland yielded, facing him without reserve.

            Adil stared straight into the face of Oblivion.

            “Let’s get out of here,” he said with a tilted nodding gesture.

 

II. 

There were far greater numbers than Adil recalled initially among them, celebrating in jovial glee outside the Internment Facility when he had returned to the entrance with his men, worn from the diversion. Civilians, members of the Lokapala; everyone imprisoned had their lives spared, freed from fate, because of the aid from programs he thought amounted to nothing more than monsters. Artificial or human, Tuners were fiends, but this maneuver was the first successful operation Adil, and the Lokapala as a whole, had experienced in an unbearable amount of time. It was by the acts of deft boldness he had not witnessed in an unbearably longer time.

            Roland emerged with the other four. His dismissal from them appeared as a mute hand gesture—his words unable to be heard over the gaiety— and a stepping away towards Adil’s direction.

            “It worked,” Adil said in half-disbelief as Roland approached. The man showed no sign of injury, ailment, or jarring despite his frayed clothing and skewed appearance; no abrasions were visible to suggest the blood on him was his own.

            “So, this Asura thing…” Adil said trailing off.

            “… It shouldn’t be a problem,” Roland replied heavily. He paused in observance before continuing with: “Now that the prisoners are freed we can focus on getting the Cyber Shaman. The Society is taking us for fools. They won’t realize what happened here, not immediately; so another disturbance should work… Do you think you can do something similar in the city to draw their focus away from the Tower?”

            If Adil did not know Roland as he did, his pride would have would have started to bleed like a cut on his own skin. Roland was the one granted tight wit for effective ideas, but he was not as tactful when deciding in mid-action. He was competent when needed, but Adil was better towards the compliment. The two were aware of it, so in reply Adil said: “Yeah, I’ve always hauled your half for this end. I can get some men.”

            Adil could not dismiss the pondering if their roles would stay that way as Roland voiced a brief agreement, and walked away returning to the others of the Embryon tribe. The leader of the Lokapala was one of them now—a Tuner, among the Embryon—on his own accord. Despite the confusion, Adil could not resist a feeling of gratitude. Those choices returned parts of the man he fervently pledged his fidelity towards, and introduced the understanding of Tuners for their beasts.

 

III. 

Adil was halfway screaming something, trying to motion for an action he was not receiving. The chaos caused Roland’s senses to hyper-refine, sharpening edges beyond the point of recognition. He could only comprehend the bits when his comrade called out his name in disjointed sequence. The remainder of his consciousness prioritized the conflict inside himself. Their leader was fighting, risking his life, in honor of his fellow men, and he was standing aside.

            Greg was his friend. That detail caused Roland’s loyalty to stir and harass against what wit and reason he had left in him. Flee or fight, retreat or struggle, live or die; he was torn into clueless disarray. Wit reasoned that Greg was committing the action to save lives, not loose them, and that his return would destroy that purpose. Loyalty argued that his friend needed support he could give, repay the opportunity of being carried away from the fray, and that he was no coward.

            Adil had become impatient with Roland’s unresponsiveness. Nervously he approached his comrade, foolishly speculating it was distance that caused his beckoning to be in vain. Fear glazed Adil’s eyes, worry clenched his teeth, and his lips were in a slit-scowl. He urgently tried again:

            “Roland.”

            A fleeting jolt crossed over the man’s face in response. As repost, his head turned and faced the similarity of his own likeness mirrored in his comrade’s face. The sight tensed both men. Roland slowly decided to rotate his hip away from the conflict in a shallow step. His torso quietly followed suit, abandoning his vitality in favor to shadow behind Adil elsewhere.

 

IV.

“This is my mess. You guys keep moving.” Roland stated, his sentiment arousing the outer glow of the brand on the back of his left hand.

            The man dug his fist into the broken computer monitor, and the shard of glass bit into the flesh on Roland’s fist not unlike the bite the asura, Indra, had done to the weaker before it. His hand and forearm was in the state of static numbness; he could not tell if it was from the discharge from the destroyed electronic hardware or from the energy of his own will reincarnated into physicality. Roland felt no physical pain—the anguish he felt in his heart and in his head skewed most of his perception.

            The after-echo of Adil’s horrified scream had been imprinted into his hearing. It was the sound of everything they—Greg, Roland; Adil—had labored for fall apart effortlessly at their feet in an instant. The Lokapala was no more. All of Roland’s men were either dead or dying, and yet he stood there alive, left to carry the burden of the blood accumulated on his hands, even if it was a kept promise.

 

“ _Apparently, Angel will be commanding the pursuit unit herself. But don’t worry… I won’t let her get anywhere near you. Where I come from, we’d lay down our lives if it meant saving our comrades_.”

 

            Adil had upheld his word to the Embryon, so Roland had to uphold his vow to the Lokapala. It was something he could not longer run from. Running—it was all Roland remembered doing for the past—two, five; even a longer amount of—years of his godforsaken existence, and yet running away had never once resolved his problems. All of his running was what cause everything he came in contact with to shrivel, wither, and die. He often considered it a shame his own toxicity took so long to close in around him.

            “But, Roland…” Fred feebly protested with concern.

            “Don’t worry,” Roland reassured with what little verve he had left, “I can handle them. I’m the clever one, after all.”

            Roland rotated his hip towards the entrance of the Power Plant in a hefty step. His torso boldly followed suit, abandoning his hindering desires in favor to become a pillar of salt.

 

\------------------------------------- 

 

The computer monitor for the generator room had not been broken beforehand. The fact that Roland was able to breach the protective glass of the screen surprised him, considering his dizzying fatigue. He knew that he had to, no matter what, that it was the sentiment of his will, so that it could be transferred into the electronic’s tech-rung insides.

            It was for the better that sensual awareness was disconnected from most of his body, and it was probably why he was able to break through the hardware. He no longer feared the pain. No physical pain could rid the agony from the wound in his abdomen. Regardless his words tried to—the dying man’s final amendment.

            “I’m just a coward,” Roland confessed to Fred over the handheld transceiver.

            “I turned my back on him…” he continued, tottering into the heart of the Power Plant. The blood and sweat caused his eyes to sting and the green glow of the room’s interior further disoriented his vision.

            “… He was my best friend. That saved my life…”

            Greg, Adil—no one was left to set his sight straight, no one was left to carry him out alive, not this time. As he awaited his fate, Roland grasped the drop-off’s railing, viewing the turbine from above, and watched its mocking rotation.


End file.
